


(who would’ve thought) that a boy like me could come to this

by rohkeutta



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Immortality, M/M, Pre-Slash, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohkeutta/pseuds/rohkeutta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Laura Hale recruited a warlock to resurrect Derek from the ashes of the Hale fire, she didn’t know what curse she unintentionally laid upon her brother. When life is brought back by force, it sticks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(who would’ve thought) that a boy like me could come to this

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tumblr fic I scrambled up in two days for my old graphic. Mainly it's just me trying to actually finish something sometimes.  
> Title is from _(I just) died in you arms tonight_ by Cutting Crew.  
>  You can also check out my [tumblr](http://rohkeutta.tumblr.com).

Peter is a sneaky motherfucker, and Stiles longs for a chance to skin him alive and spread his pelt in front of Lydia’s fireplace. The asshole was AWOL pretty much the whole nogitsune hassle, and just when they had all been picking themselves up and dealing with the aftermath, he blasted back to town being all alpha-y _again_. None of them saw it coming, and that’s pretty much why Stiles is currently kneeling on the forest floor, his twisted ankle aching, and trying in vain to press his balled-up hoodie against the huge, gaping wound in Derek’s stomach.

Scott, Kira, Isaac, Allison and Lydia are all trying to distract Peter and at the same time get a chance to actually kill him, but it looks really fucking hopeless, and hell, why isn’t Derek _healing_? His breath is stuttering and laboured, his face pale and clammy from the loss of blood, and Stiles is pretty sure there is an actual _hole_ the size of Peter’s fist in his middle. Stiles' hands are slippery with blood against the soaked fabric, and it’s really damn hard to keep from retching.

He doesn’t even realize he’s babbling, when Derek grasps his wrist and chokes out, “Stiles, _listen_ , this is important.”

"No, no, no, don’t you dare to die and try to confess some deep profound revelation you have just had, _nope_ , no dying business today, thank you, just try to heal, _please, okay._ ”

” _Stiles_ ,” Derek grits out, struggles to swallow, breathes shallowly. He looks like shit, and Stiles regrets every single time he has made fun of his broody looks, because even if Derek wasn’t dying, he’d still look so fucking tired, like he’s never gonna get a break, and Stiles is never going to forgive himself if Derek has to go with that resigned look in his eyes. Derek’s fingers around his wrist are trembling. "Listen, you have to let me go, and then you have a maybe five-minute window to end him."

"What? No, asshole, no way in fucking hell I’m letting you _die_!”

"Don’t worry," Derek says, struggling with the words. "I don’t have time to explain better right now, but trust me,  _please trust me_ , it won’t stick.”

"What do you mean, it won’t stick? You’re gonna be _dead._ ”

Scott skids to a halt next to them, eyes wide and so damn concerned and _sad_ that Stiles wants to cry.

"Is he dying?" Scott asks, and he nods, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Five minutes," Derek breathes out. "Remember that, he’ll be gloating and then hopefully distracted, and that’s our chance. And don’t fucking cry, Stiles, this’s not final. I’ve got this. It’s _not gonna stick._ ”

Then, before either of them get anything out, he closes his eyes and stops breathing.

"Fuck," Scott says. He looks ready to pull his hair off, eyes flicking between Derek’s limp body and Peter roaring at Isaac. "Fucking fucking fuck, what was that? What do we do?"

Stiles wipes his eyes and bites his tongue to stop the tears. "Derek said we have five minutes to kill Peter. So we do that. I’ll stay with him. _Go._ ”

Scott nods, brushes his hand over Derek’s shoulder, over Stiles’ hair, and turns back to the battle.

When Peter realizes maybe two minutes later that Derek’s dead, he actually _does_ gloat; his monstrous face splits into a wide grin and he laughs. It’s a sound that will probably haunt Stiles for years. "Well then," he croos, "my good-for-nothing nephew finally got what he deserved. Scotty, my dear boy, you really should join me to avoid his fate. Together we could rule this territory."

"As if," Scott yells back, angry and defiant. "This isn’t fucking Star Wars, you just want to make me your slave."

Peter laughs again, and then, without a warning he somehow has Lydia by her throat, turned towards Scott.

"You have two choices, Scott," he says, voice silky smooth, claws digging to Lydia’s skin. "You join me, or you watch all your precious little friends get killed one by one, _because of you_.”

Allison is pointing an arrow at him, but she can’t shoot, not with Lydia on the way and his claws threatening to tear her throat out. All of them are frozen in the spot, and Stiles can see hundreds of different plans flitting through Scott’s head. Lydia’s eyes are terrified but furious, but she keeps wisely quiet.

"One thing I never understood," Peter continues conversationally, like this is a fucking picnic. "Why would you want to have a pack with Derek? You can never know when his girlfriends burn your family down."

That’s when Derek’s body twitches, suddenly, and he _draws a breath_ , and then his eyes are flying open and he’s sitting up, and Stiles falls back on his ass, because _holy mother of Jesus what the sweet everloving fuck_.

"Although I guess that’s not a danger anymore, with him being dead and everything," Peter muses out loud when nobody answers him.

Stiles watches, mouth gaping in shock, as Derek manages to push himself to his feet, staggering a little. There is still a wound in his stomach, but it’s rapidly healing. "Sorry, still a possibility," he calls to Peter, his voice rough but very, very much alive.

Peter’s head whips towards them, eyes widening in surprise, and he actually is so stunned that he drops Lydia. Allison snaps out of it first, takes her chance and shoots him in the head with an arrow made of mountain ash. So Peter dies. Again. This time Stiles is going to make sure he isn’t coming back, but that can wait, because _how the hell is Derek alive_ _._

He’s up and flying to Derek in seconds, hands flitting around like two confused bumblebees, as he pats Derek’s face and hair and shoulders and stomach and hands, all the time trying to get a word out. ” _What?”_ is finally his result, and that seems to wake everybody up from their haze: Isaac and Allison run to Lydia, and Scott and Kira scramble up to him and Derek.

Derek looks weary and still tired as fuck, and he’s swaying slightly on his feet, but his face has returned from translucent whiteness to its normal shade of pale, and the skin under the tatters of his shirt is zipping itself up. He inhales deeply, closes his eyes for a second and then says, “Let me sit down for a minute, this was a rough one.”

"Uhh yeah, sure," Stiles replies, bewildered and a little creeped out, wraps his arm around Derek’s waist and steers him towards where Allison has made Lydia sit down on a fallen tree trunk. His ankle twinges a little as he puts his weight on it, so it’s kind of awkward hopping more than walking, but Scott drapes Derek’s arm around his shoulders and steadies them enough that they make it to the girls, Kira trailing behind them. Isaac is kicking Peter’s prone body to see that he’s definitely dead.

Derek sags a little when he sits down next to Lydia, his head tilting forward exhaustedly. They all just stand there staring at him, confused and a little lost. Then Lydia scoots closer to him, takes his hand and says, “I didn’t know you were going to die. I always do, with others, but I didn’t see it coming now.”

Derek turns to look at her. There’s dried blood in the corner of his mouth. Stiles wants to scrape it off with his thumb.

"That’s because it’s never permanent," Derek says, squeezes her hand a little. "I can’t stay dead."

"Okay, wait, what?" Stiles asks, waving his hand. "How is that even possible? You just died in my arms, dude, and it definitely wasn’t something I said. I  _cried_. And five minutes later, boom, here you are, whole as new.”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, like he has a headache, which is totally understandable since he just kicked the bucket, and Scott jumps in. "How about we deal with Peter’s body first, then go home to get cleaned up and sleep? We can go into this tomorrow. Because this sounds like a long story, and I’m pretty ready to make sure that asshole is never coming back."

He’s using his alpha voice. Stiles hates it.

Allison calls his father, who shows up with a worried crease on his forehead, scolds them a little for not calling him earlier, and then drags Peter's body to his car. He promises to burn the body and scatter the ashes in several places to prevent him coming back for the third time. They are all standing next to their cars, and Derek looks at them, exhales and says softly, “Thank you.”

Stiles isn’t exactly sure what he’s thanking them for, but Derek looks relieved, and yeah, Peter’s death must be a big load off his shoulders. Scott steps forward and pulls Derek into a loose hug, and it’s so heartbreaking to see the expression on Derek's face that Stiles can’t help himself, and worms his way under Scott’s arm. He wraps his own arms around Derek and Scott both, and then suddenly Lydia and Kira are there, too; then Allison and Isaac. They have a perfectly normal thank-you-all-for-being-alive-even-though-Derek-is-creepily-so group hug, and Chris Argent’s eyes are soft and somehow fond when their pile finally disentagles.

They wish each others goodnight and drive off. Stiles drops Lydia off on his way, and at home finds his dad watching the eight o’clock news in the living room. He thought it was later. Dad takes one look at him and stands up, comes to him with worried eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, concerned, as he checks him for wounds and reels him into a hug after realizing that the blood on his shirt isn’t Stiles'.

"Yeah," Stiles breathes out. "Peter Hale is dead. He attacked us when we were training."

"Jeez," his dad mutters. "Are all you kids fine?"

Stiles swallows. “Yeah. Derek almost died, but he’s - he’s okay now.”

Dad sighs. “Sometimes I wonder how many times that boy has _almost_ died. All of you.”

Yeah, Stiles gets that one.  


He drives to Derek’s apartment in the afternoon after sleeping for solid twelve hours. He thanks some deities for the blessing that is Saturday because he seriously has been missing way too many classes this year due to supernatural business.

Stiles is the last one to arrive. Somebody has brought Chinese food, and the others are already digging into it with gusto. Derek’s the only one who isn’t eating, curled up in an armchair in a way that makes him look small and fragile. There are dark rings under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept at all last night.

Stiles helps himself to some fried rice and chicken before Isaac eats it all, slumps down next to Scott on the couch and says, “Okay, you’re still alive, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t hallucinating when you died last night. Explain.”

All of them turn to look at Derek, who uncurls himself, plants his feet on the floor and sighs. “I died in a burning house when I was fifteen.”

That’s a way to start a story. Isaac’s mouth falls open, and Stiles sympathizes with him. It's pretty hard to keep his own mouth shut.

Derek clenches and unclenches his hand, looking at it. "I don’t remember it. I’m glad that I don’t. But Laura was desperate and didn’t want to be left with only a vegetable of an uncle, and recruited a local warlock to resurrect somebody, just _anyone_ who was whole enough.”

Stiles sees Kira holding her breath. He doesn’t think she’s ever heard Derek mentioning his dead family, less how they ended up dead.

Derek sighs again. "He resurrected me. The authorities didn’t even know I was dead at some point, because Laura and the warlock found me before them, in the tunnels where Kate left me."

There is a brief, very awkward silence.

"So how are you bouncing back to life like this, still?" Stiles enquires. "Shouldn’t it be, like, permanent if you die again? You know, kind of twisted Pushing Daisies?"

Derek smiles without humor, a wry, little twist of his mouth, and ignores his pop culture reference. "It’s the opposite," he tells them. "I started suspecting when I got run over by a car in New York and I woke up unharmed. I was seventeen and first thought I was just lucky, but it’s not that."

He’s quiet for a moment, and then says, “When life is brought back by force, like the warlock did to me, it sticks. I can die, but I can’t stay dead for more than five or six minutes.”

"So you’re essentially immortal?" Allison checks, and Derek nods, looks away.

"And you didn’t think you should tell us?" Stiles asks, feeling a little angry. Hell, he had been devastated at the thought of Derek dying last night, and actually he’s just springing back like a fucking pinball whenever Stiles fears for his life. They’re never actually going to get rid of him. No wonder he doesn’t recognize an idiotic, fatal plan, because unlike the others, he isn’t fazed by _dying_. Jesus.

"I thought about it," Derek admits. "But I’ve had so much to think that it’s always slipped my mind. Mostly I’m just trying not to die, because those times I _do_ remember.”

"But that’s pretty cool, isn’t it?" Isaac asks. "Being immortal."

Derek looks away and doesn’t answer, but Stiles is struck with a thought. "Hey, what happens when you grow old? Are you going to be a million years old? Wait, _will you become the Face of Boe?_ _"_

"I don’t know," Derek snaps. "I’m flying blind here, all I know is the story Laura told me, and what I’ve gathered from  _experience._ This isn’t really a time to make Doctor Who references.”

He stands up and walks to the nearest window, turns his back to them and falls silent. Stiles hasn’t got werewolf senses, but Isaac and Scott shuffle a little, agitated maybe, affected by whatever Derek is broadcasting in the wolfy wavelenghts. His shoulders are hunched and head bowed down, and that’s when Stiles finally _gets_ it.

In the worst case Derek is going to live forever; even in the best case he is going to live longer than anyone else he knows, and will have to watch everybody around him grow old and die. And Laura, who didn’t want to be alone and therefore laid this curse upon him, was killed, leaving her brother to be exactly what she didn’t want to become.

If he thought Derek was lonely before, it’s nothing compared to this - this an ultimate, unintentional punishment, and Stiles thinks of Kate and what she did to Derek and his family, and how he has blamed himself for years already. He thinks of Derek, who will never literally get a break, whose family is dead but who can’t die himself, possibly thinking that he _deserves_ this hell; and he doesn’t know if he wants to cry or throw up.

"I’m sorry," he says softly, probably startling everyone. Derek doesn’t turn, but his shoulders ease, just a fraction, and he nods like he understands that he’s not sorry for his awful jokes but for the whole situation.

"Maybe we should go to Deaton," Kira offers. "He might be able to help."

"No," Lydia says immediately. She looks sad, and Stiles knows she has figured out something he hasn’t yet.

"I know how to stop this," Derek says before anyone can object. His voice is flat and colourless, like he’s reading from a script. "I’ve known from the beginning."

"Why haven’t you done it, then?" Isaac asks, bless him. "Is it something awful?"

Stiles is pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear the answer to that.

Derek turns around. His face looks like he has gone through countless years and wars, and Stiles aches to push him into bed and watch over him as he sleeps; aches to keep guard and keep him safe until the unevitable happens again, and Derek goes to sacrifice himself for those who are still able to stay dead.

"The only way to stop this is to correct it," Derek answers tiredly. "I’ve lived seven years on borrowed time, because I was supposed to be done when I was fifteen. The universe will balance itself out, when I go down to the tunnels below the shell of my house and set myself on fire."

It gets dead quiet.

Kira has her hand over her mouth, Isaac looks sick. Lydia’s mouth is trembling with either anger or tears, Scott’s gone completely blank, and even Allison seems shaken. Stiles stares at Derek’s downturned face and wills the stinging in his eyes away.

But that’s when Derek turns so that the light from the window obscures his face, and says: “I would have done that, when I had avenged Laura’s death, if Scott hadn’t been so freshly bitten. I needed to help you. And now, when I have — this, you, I can’t do it anymore. I’m too selfish, and would rather live forever and die a thousand times than not have this.”

It’s more than Stiles has ever heard him talk on one go.

It’s also too much, because Scott stands up and goes to the other room without a word. They all hear him shout, helpless and angry at the universe.

Derek’s eyes look million years old as Stiles puts away his still full plate, gets up, goes to him and pulls him in without a second thought. He’s slightly shorter than Stiles, nowadays, and narrower than he used to, so it’s easy, so ridiculously easy to drape his arm around Derek’s waist, put his other hand on the back of Derek’s neck and just hold him.

Derek goes first rigid, then folds like a house of cards under his touch. His forehead feels feverishly hot against Stiles’ neck, like he is burning up, eaten by fire that consumed him when he was younger than Stiles is now.

Scott comes back, meets Stiles’ eyes over Derek’s head, and nods, starts herding the others out. Stiles stays, keeps Derek pressed close with the hand on his neck, tries to tell him that he can have this, he can keep this, and they will figure something out when time comes. He thinks how Derek has always pushed himself into the line of fire, thinks of all the times he will be dying in Stiles’ hands because he won’t be able to stop being selfless. He wonders how many times he, himself, will have to live through the spark leaving Derek’s body, the light escaping from him like someone opened a door into a dark abyss. How long will he be there to catch Derek when he wakes up, and what if the curse one day just vanishes, and Derek isn’t resurrected again?

 _Fuck that,_ he thinks vehemently and tightens his grip just a little. _We will conquer it._

Derek nods against him like he knows what he’s thinking. Maybe he does.


End file.
